


i fell in love (with a heart that beats so slow)

by concede



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Imperial Prompto, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-18
Updated: 2018-02-18
Packaged: 2019-03-20 19:43:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13724661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/concede/pseuds/concede
Summary: Prompto, a former failed experiment of Niflheim, is given one last chance to prove his worth to the Empire.He is tasked with infiltrating Insomnia, befriending Prince Noctis and  - when given the command - killing him.But then Feelings™ happen.





	i fell in love (with a heart that beats so slow)

His chest heaves against his restraints, muscles taut and nostrils flaring as the pungent stench of _Starscourge_ pervades the air. The black, tar-like substance seems almost to have a mind of its own; it exhibits no natural flow, but rather crawls down a drip and into his veins. It’s enough to make him temporarily docile. He slumps against his bindings, vision blurred and mind hazy, struggling to find something to hold onto amidst it all.

There’s the quiet ticking of a clock hung up on the wall.

He can hear the sharp nib of a pen scratching quickly against paper.

Machinery whirs periodically, waking itself up from its idle state before falling back into dull silence.

Moments later, he’s _hurling_ , jerking violently as the black sludge dribbles down his chin messily. It’s a familiar and – as far as he knows - inevitable reaction, one which elicits a soft, disappointed sigh from the man documenting the results of his extensive tests.

“Unit 05953234 is not responding to the plasmodium parasite as we would expect. He seems to have developed a surprising amount of resistance... I can only surmise it’s a result of having introduced him to too weak a strain as an infant.” The man, while clinical in his assessment of his test subject, sounds almost afraid as he addresses another man in the room. The Chancellor. 

“A pity,” Ardyn says, his tone light but no less dangerous. “However, your efforts need not be in vain. I have another task in mind for this boy. Your work is far from complete.”

 

 

It’s autumn, the start of a new school year and Prompto’s first. It’s difficult to acclimatise to Insomnia when he’s long-since been accustomed to Niflheim and its strict regimes. He has more free time on his hands than he’s _ever_ had, his training having dwindled to an end; he doesn’t know what to do with himself when he wakes up early, wandering the strange emptiness of his apartment in hopes of finding instruction that never reveals itself. 

He’s not used to the freedom of making his own decisions. It leaves him feeling uneasy, a churning sensation held low in the pit of his stomach as he considers the options available to him. What would he be _expected_ to do? He might be away from Niflheim, but he’s not so naïve as to believe he’s truly escaped the Chancellor’s radar. That man – Ardyn – has eyes everywhere; he alone possesses the uncanny ability to read Prompto’s deepest, innermost thoughts no matter how well he thinks he’s hidden them. The thought alone leaves him feeling skittish. Vulnerable.

Eventually, Prompto opts for starting a new, rigorous routine of morning running. He takes his camera along with him, capturing (terrible, shaky) snaps of the city as he goes. It’s a sensible course of action, he thinks. At the very least, it’ll provide an explanation for his lithe muscles and keep him at peak physical condition while he’s trapped within Insomnia. It also gives him the chance to practise this assigned hobby of his, though – in truth – photography is merely a means of communicating his progress. Invaluable information from the Crown City is captured with a simple click of his finger, uploading across a server for Ardyn himself to see. Niflheim has always been technologically superior to the other nations. For Prompto, however, it’s more like a spy game --- he’s _infiltrating the enemy_. 

He knows he should treat the mission more seriously. But it feels so much like a holiday, he can’t help how his smile broadens when shop-owners bid him a good morning as he jogs past them opening up their stores for the day. Gralea is different. It’s cold and detached and people are too afraid to smile and wave freely. Instead, they keep their eyes safely to the floor and shuffle along, reluctant to draw any unnecessary attention to themselves. Prompto’s excited to see the afternoon here with its low sun and bustling streets; he’s excited to see just how much life differs beneath the safe glow of the crystal. How it thrives. 

He’s still full of energy even after his run. He washes, dresses, and starts walking swiftly towards the school building. He starts to wonder how long it’ll be until he catches sight of Prince Noctis among the many students.

As it happens, he notices the boy in question before he ever even reaches the school gates. It’s not _just_ the car that pulls up with its tinted windows and expensive paintwork, a dark-haired boy stepping out wearing pretty much the exact same face as any other sullen teenager. 

It’s the way the crowd of students in the courtyard parts for him. 

Prompto comes to a sudden halt, watching curiously from afar as they all stare and talk about Noctis in loud whispers, but otherwise keep a distance from their royal classmate, treating him as if he’s afflicted with Starscourge. Noctis doesn’t even bat an eyelid, telling Prompto all he needs to know about this being something of a regular occurrence. 

It isn’t what he _expects_ , no matter that there’s a file back at his apartment which states the Lucian prince has no real friends. It turns out Noctis doesn’t even have any _fake friends_ either; he’s popular in the worst way, completely and entirely isolated from his peers. Prompto isn’t sure what to make of the sadness the realisation elicits from him. He’s not supposed to feel sorry for the guy, after all. 

Is it that he can relate to that solitude? 

In watching Noctis, he feels like he’s strapped up to that bed once more, bound by leather straps and struggling against them until his body is exhausted and even his mind feels drained. There’s discomfort, an overarching feeling of helplessness and sorrow for a life he cannot recall. Mostly, though, there’s loneliness, a complete and utter lack of companionship during those formative years.

Whatever the reason, his initial plans of slowly building up towards friendship are swept carelessly aside as he picks up speed, opting for a hasty walk until he reaches the prince’s side. He claps a hand on his shoulder confidently, unfazed by the way Noctis nearly jumps out of his skin and a hundred pairs of eyes seem to linger on him. “Hey, Noct,” he says, disarmingly casual. “I’m Prompto Argentum. It’s nice to meet ya.”

Noctis stares at him, lips parting as though he’s not quite sure what to make of the blond that’s suddenly invading his personal space. He looks almost like he wants to run, turn on his heel and place as much distance between them as is possible. 

He also looks intrigued.

As the moments tick by, Prompto becomes certain he’s messed up somehow; he should have been more subtle, should have given Noctis more time to consider the possibility of forming a friendship with him. He finds himself faltering, his eyes full of panic as he tries to find a means of backpedalling and laughing his introduction off like it was a mere joke. He can’t screw things up on day one. He’s already failed one experiment; if he fails _this_ mission, he has no purpose left to the Empire. The barcode etched into his wrist tells him there’s nowhere else for him to turn. There’s nowhere he can run to. There’s nowhere he can hide.

Before Prompto finds the right (or wrong) words to say, Noctis shrugs and adjusts the strap of his book bag on his shoulder. “Hey, Prom,” he says, the smallest smile pulling at the corners of his lips in a quiet, unspoken acceptance. 

It occurs to Prompto that no one has _ever_ looked at him like that before in his entire life. It’s his turn to stare, blinking rapidly before he returns the other’s smile with a blinding one of his own.

No one has ever called him ‘Prom’ and treated him like a friend, accepting him with no questions asked. 

It’s a nice feeling, though he’s the last person to deserve Noctis’s trust.

He lifts his camera up to his eye-level and takes a photograph, much to Noctis’s confusion. “Don’t look so worried,” he teases. “I’m not gonna sell it, man. I’m not _that_ sleazy.” He tries not to feel guilty as he clicks ‘upload’; he might not be selling Noctis’s photograph, but he’s delivering it – free of charge – to the Chancellor all the same. 

That’s a hundred times worse.

 

 

 

Befriending Noctis is deceptively easy. Prompto knows better than to think his sudden presence in the prince’s life will be met without suspicion. Even if _Noctis_ is willing to accept him, that doesn’t mean everyone else will. The prince’s Shield is wary from the start and makes no effort to hide it. Of everyone, Prompto thinks Gladio will be the first one to _rough him up_. 

He mentally prepares for it, waits for the day he’ll be dragged to one side by the scruff of his neck. He knows how to play at being helpless; he’ll tremble and nod his head meekly, lower lip quivering, and avoid Noctis for just long enough that the prince will start asking questions as to why his sudden disappearance. Gladio is big and tough but he’s not subtle. Prompto knows exactly how to win him over. All he has to do is prove that he’s not a real threat to the prince. With his smaller stature and lithe body, he hardly _looks_ like the trained killer he is. He even starts wearing his glasses more and more when he’s around Gladio, perfecting the look of ‘weak and unassuming’. 

But he’s wrong. 

The file is wrong.

It’s not Gladio who approaches him first, demanding answers. It’s _Ignis_ who shows up at his apartment one afternoon, a few weeks into his blossoming friendship with Noctis. Prompto nearly drops his camera in shock when he walks in and finds the other man sitting stiffly at his kitchen table. 

“Ah, Prompto,” says Ignis amiably. “I had hoped we could talk.”

“Uh,” says Prompto, stalling as he subtly looks around. His apartment has been searched, though it’s not too obvious at a glance. Not to an untrained eye. Prompto has known to expect something like this, however. He notices what has been moved and what hasn’t been touched. He relaxes imperceptibly when he realises the file is still safely tucked away in its hiding spot. That’s something, at least. It’s the only thing he wouldn’t be able to explain away. “Sure?”

Ignis invites him to take a seat at his own table and Prompto struggles not to laugh outright at how _ridiculous_ it is. He’s certainly underestimated Ignis and the lengths he’ll go to in order to keep Noctis safe... It’s a shame that none of it will make a difference in the end. No one is safe, least of all Noctis. Still, Prompto does as he’s told, sitting down at the opposite side of the table and fidgeting nervously while Ignis regards him thoughtfully.

“Where are your parents, Prompto?” Ignis asks, seemingly innocuous but Prompto has been interrogated enough times in his life to be able to differentiate between a loaded and unloaded question. Ignis’s finger is hovering over the trigger. It has been since Prompto first arrived in Noctis’s life. 

“I dunno,” says Prompto, squirming under the other’s sharp-eyed scrutiny. He shrugs his shoulders and averts his gaze. “They travel a lot. It’s mostly just me. They come back every few months, but mostly they just call every now and again to check up on me.”

There are more questions, each one asked in that same conversational tone. Ignis has been thorough in his research, calling attention to every little discrepancy he’s come across. Unfortunately for him, Prompto has a script to follow. It’s one he’s learnt by heart, every line etched into his memory. It’s not his life, but it may as well be for how intimately he knows it. 

Whether Ignis is truly satisfied or not, Prompto doesn’t know, but there’s no ultimatum given by the time the sun has dipped low in the sky and it’s time for him to leave. He takes that as a promising sign. Ignis has no reason to doubt the veracity of his story. He might not be entirely convinced either, but that will come in due course.

Standing up as Ignis does, Prompto follows him the short distance from the table to the door. Outside, the air holds a bitter note. He wraps his arms around his middle to try and stave off the late autumnal chill, his posture defensive even when he doesn’t mean for it to be. In moments like this, it’s difficult to disguise that he’s always waiting, always ready for the next test to come his way.

Perhaps Ignis is able to read something from him. 

He stops half in the doorway, his hand holding the door open as though he expects Prompto might try and slam it shut in his face. The blond, however, makes no such move, instead watching him expectantly.

“Prompto,” Ignis says, his voice weary as he pushes his glasses up his nose. “Noctis has never had a true friend before. He has never had someone to stand at his side and support him, outside of duty. I sincerely hope that you would be that for him. I believe…” he hesitates. “I believe it would be beneficial for you _both_.”

“Yeah,” says Prompto thickly, swallowing hard as Ignis finally leaves. “Me too.”

Of course, it doesn’t really matter what he thinks. 

 

 

“You’re really smart,” Noctis tells him one day, months after Ignis’s impromptu interrogation.

The two of them are studying; exam season is right around the corner and Noctis is panicking, worried that his grades aren’t going to reflect the amount of time he’s dedicated to school work. Prompto isn’t nearly as concerned, though he goes through the motions of feigning the same anxieties as his classmates. He spent an inordinate amount of time studying before he came to Insomnia, perfecting his grades so he would have no trouble keeping up with Noctis. The prince is at the top of most his classes and Prompto is right there with him, holding back only enough to avoid the unwanted spotlight of being a star pupil. Fortunately, his carefree attitude deceives even the teachers. They’re too busy confiscating his phone and chiding him for talking to realise the brilliance of his mind.  

“Huh? You think?” Prompto rubs the back of his neck, his smile sheepish. It’s an off-hand compliment, but it still colours his cheeks with the beginnings of a blush. He isn’t used to being praised. He doubts he ever will be. 

Noctis shrugs, staring resolutely down at his book as his ears begin to turn a vivid shade of pink. It’s almost endearing. _Almost_. “Sure I do,” he says. “What? No one’s ever told you that before?”

“Nah,” says Prompto, likewise lowering his gaze. “My best friend’s kinda stingy with his compliments. Guess he has a hard time saying how he feels, y’know? Suppose it’s hard for him.”

“Your best friend sounds like a real jerk,” Noctis jokes.

Prompto turns to the next page, his smile half-hidden. “ _Maybe_ ,” he teases. “But he’s all right when you get to know him. Bit of a closeted softie at heart, as it turns out.”

“Is that so?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Well, would a softie do this?”

Noctis is surprisingly _fast_. Prompto’s eyes widen to comical proportions as he finds himself being tackled onto the floor, the prince smirking down at him triumphantly from his vantage point. Stunned, Prompto’s fingers stop reaching for the concealed blade he’d been moments from brandishing. His heart is racing; he can hear it hammering in his ears. “Noct,” he says, tongue darting out quickly to wet his lips. He could have killed him in a heartbeat and Noctis is blissfully ignorant to the danger he’s in. It’s Prompto’s first instinct, even after all this time. 

Noctis misunderstands his fluttering pulse and stuttering breaths.

Perhaps he doesn’t even notice or _care_. It seems like this is something he’s been building up to over the last months, though the signs have been entirely missed by his would-be assailant. At any rate, it’s not like Prompto can set him straight when he leans down and presses a tender, surprisingly shy kiss to his lips. 

What is he supposed to say in answer to that? ‘Whoa, sorry Noct. Wrong idea there, buddy. I’m not here for you to make heart eyes at. Funny story. I’m actually here to _kill you_. I’m just waiting for the order.’

“Prom?” 

Noctis sounds afraid in a way Prompto’s never heard him sound before. His voice hitches subtly, his eyes wide and shining in the low light. There’s so much for him to fear, and yet it’s the thought of rejection that makes his voice crack like he’s a child once more.

Rejection from Prompto, of all people. 

Ardyn is cruel. Prompto has always known that. He himself has suffered at the man’s hands enough times to know it with utmost certainty. However, it’s only in this moment he realises just how deep that callous streak reaches. He doesn’t simply want to kill Noctis. He wants to _ruin him_ , watch his heart shatter before the life drains from his eyes. 

Prompto knows he’s not a good person.

He knows he’s the worst. He’s just one more weapon in the hands of the Empire and one day he’ll be Noctis’s downfall. He doesn’t have a choice; it’s either that or be killed himself. _If he doesn’t suffer a far worse fate_. The kind of fate he’s seen in the secure labs: a fate for those who become more daemon than not. He’s not even sure what happens to the failed experiments, those who are _decommissioned_. Ardyn provides a different answer with every threat… None of them are favourable.

All else aside, Prompto never once considered _this_. 

He’s killed people before. 

He thinks about their faces sometimes, whispers apologies into the night like it can undo the damage he’s caused. He’s never done it for the sheer joy of it; it’s only ever been in the interest of self-preservation, a necessary evil. A life taken in order to carry on surviving. Not living, just… surviving.

But he’s never toyed with anyone for this long. 

Ardyn might be the sort who enjoys playing with his food before he eats it, but Prompto _isn’t_.

There’s a reason Ardyn hasn’t given the order yet. He knows Prompto is close enough to the target, that there are plenty of opportunities for Prompto to take Noctis’s life. But it’s not enough for the Chancellor. It’s not painful enough, not theatrical enough…

Prompto thinks of the file tucked away in his apartment, how detailed it is in telling him about Noctis’s likes and dislikes, everything he would ever need to know. It’s been set up like this right from the start and that realisation leaves him pale and shaking, his chest suddenly tight as he tries not to throw up his dinner right then and there. Ardyn never told him this, though it’s not like he has any choice in the matter even now he understands. 

He can’t pretend to have the moral high ground here.

“Prompto, I’m sorry. I thought--- I was wrong. I shouldn’t have done that.”

Prompto wiggles his way out from underneath Noctis, avoiding the boy’s gaze as he makes a grab for his jacket and boots. He stomps across the floor, not because he’s angry at Noctis but because he’s angry at _himself_. He shouldn’t care how Noctis feels about him. He shouldn’t be sabotaging his mission like this. So what if there are aspects Ardyn neglected to tell him? So what if it’s _cruel_? It was always going to be cruel! You can’t conspire to kill someone and expect them to be okay with it. It’s never okay.

“--- at least let me call Specs,” Noctis tries desperately. Even when he looks like his heart has been ripped from his chest, he still cares enough to worry for Prompto’s wellbeing above all else. “It’s late. He can drive you back home. Please.”

The door slams shut behind him, separating him from Noctis at long last. It’s only then that he feels like he can breathe, the night air sharp and welcome in his heaving lungs.

Prompto starts running as fast as his legs can carry him, hurtling down the empty streets like he’s being pursued by something terrible, something dark and twisted only he can see. 

He doesn’t stop until he reaches his apartment, his phone buzzing noisily in his pocket. _Noctis_. One missed call after another, Prompto stares at the screen until his battery is running low. He makes no effort to charge it, though there’s a sharp pang in his chest when he reads the other’s final message, the last one he receives only moments before the screen turns black. 

‘Can we still be friends?’

**Author's Note:**

> pls keep me company on [tumblr](concede.tumblr.com) 
> 
> ♡


End file.
